


Don't Cross Your Boundaries: A Shadowhunter AU

by queenchlorine



Category: All Time Low, Bandom, Black Veil Brides, Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Panic! at the Disco, Pierce the Veil, Sleeping With Sirens
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shadowhunter Chronicles Fusion, Downworlder AU, M/M, Set in San Francisco, also most of the characters are kind of awful, and they get better eventually, bc SF is gay af, but i love them all, sorta...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-06-04 19:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6672856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenchlorine/pseuds/queenchlorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fuentes brothers are rising stars, the driving force behind a promising new punk band, Before Today. But when their gig in San Francisco ends with Mike's death in a drunken brawl, Vic's world is completely torn apart. He is Turned and taken in by the vampires who killed his brother, and his half-hearted attempt at escape only makes things worse. </p><p>Vic finds himself trapped between his murderous ex-Clan, a pair of incredibly interfering warlocks, and his own fear and self-loathing. </p><p>Why won't Kellin just let him run out into the sunlight?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bite My Fingernails to Bone

The San Francisco morning was cool, damp, and dark. Vic was mildly surprised that the café was even open at this ungodly hour, but he was thankful for it as he sat alone at one of the outside tables for two, clutching a lukewarm cup of coffee and pretending to be normal.

He wanted to think, but he couldn’t set his thoughts straight. They were buzzing, random, appearing in flashes and chaotic snippets. He saw his friends, his family, his enemies, and more, more, impossibly more- faces that were just _there_ , ever-present only to perpetuate his confusion.

His stomach ached. He hadn’t eaten since...well, really, since his birth, and he was so starved that he took a tentative sip of the coffee.

It tasted like tepid piss.

“Far from home, huh, little one?”

Vic looked up as a slim, dark-haired man with delicate features and silver-brushed sapphire eyes slid into the seat across from him. Dozens of questions flooded his mind but he asked only one.

“Uh, ‘little one?’”

The man laughed. “Yeah. You’re the new vampire, right? You can’t be older than...” he tilted his head, studying Vic, “...what, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-eight,” Vic corrected automatically. “But you’ve gotta be, like, nineteen.”

“Well,” the man smirked, “it depends. Physically, I’m about twenty-one years old.  But I’ve been around for about three-hundred or so. Give or take a couple decades.”

“How?” Vic widened his eyes and clenched his hands together on the scratched glass of the table. “How do you know? Who are you, and how do you know, and how much do you know? And why are you here?”  
“So many questions! I would answer them, but, you know...you’re one lucky bastard.”

“What?”

“Well, let’s see- you’re lucky my friend Lynn owns this particular café. You’re lucky I’m not on particularly great terms with your Clan leader. You’re lucky,” he leaned forward and slid a finger across Vic’s cheekbone, “that you’re so pretty. And you’re lucky that I know as much as I do about your kind.

“‘Cause vampires shouldn’t be out when the sun comes up, sweetie.”

Vic turned to look at the horizon; glowing pale pink veins were slowly extending into the slate-gray sky. “Damn it.”

“Don’t worry.” The man laughed again, seeming legitimately joyful. It was a high, boyish laugh, a laugh that was kind of mesmerizing in its melody, in the way it seemed to fall to the ground in peals, harmonizing with itself. “Remember, I told you. You’re lucky.” He stood, offering Vic his hand. “Hurry up, and we’ll make it back to my place before sunrise.”

 

“Wait, we’re in the Castro.”

“Duh. It’s the perfect place for someone like me.”

“Umm..?”

“See? I can even drop the glamour here. No one gives me a second look.” The svelte figure loping along next to Vic fluffed his now-cobalt blue hair, brushing the short dark stubble that covered half of his scalp with gleaming, curved, blade-sharp talons.

When Vic studied him a little closer from underneath the wide black umbrella, he noticed that his companion didn’t actually have human hair, but a sleek swoop of bright blue feathers across the right side of his head. “So you’re...what? Not a vampire. Or a werewolf. And definitely not a mundie.”

“I’m a warlock, sweetheart. I’m THE warlock. Kellin Quinn, High Warlock of San Francisco.”

“A warlock?”

“I do _magic.”_ Kellin Quinn spoke slowly and clearly, as if explaining something to a child.

Vic shook his head, unsure how to respond, and said the next thing that popped into his head. “And you still haven’t told me how you know me.”

“Darling, I know every Downworlder in my city, if not by name, then at least by sight. I have a few friends in the Tenderloin Clan. They told me about the stupid spic they caught trying to avenge his boyfriend or whatever. I’m assuming that’s you.”

“I suppose.”

The High Warlock snorted. “Must've been some boyfriend. I've had a few, and I wouldn't mess with the Tenderloin Clan for any of them. Especially with Andy in charge.”

“Mike wasn't my boyfriend. He was my brother.”

“Ah.” Kellin sucked in his cheeks and seemed, for once, lost for words.

They stopped in front of an egg yolk-yellow apartment building, old but well-kept. Kellin slipped two fingers into the back pocket of his skintight black leather pants, extracting a minute silver key with some difficulty. Vic followed him up the brick steps, through the crimson-painted wood door, and up another set of stairs, these ones shiny black linoleum.

Inside the apartment, Kellin offered him a seat on the wine-purple futon that stood against the length of one of his living room walls. Vic refused and stood with his arms crossed and one leg up against the doorframe as Kellin lounged on a puffy magenta armchair. “So, little vampire, you hungry?”

Vic shook his head firmly.

Kellin cackled. “Oh, you’re starving. We can go out tonight and get you something. I know a couple places.” He winked.

“What?”

“You know- shifty clubs, random alleys, that kinda thing. No one will even notice they’re gone.”

Vic took a few steps back, in shock and horror. “I’m not eating mundies.”

“Well, I don’t have blood just lying around. Anyone who sells passable blood lives in the Tenderloin.”

“You don’t need to feed me. I’m going back to the Tenderloin tonight.”

“Oh, no, you’re not.” Kellin chuckled. “You know why I even bothered to come pick you up? I got a message from Jaime Preciado. Friend of mine, and, apparently, friend of yours. He told me that you left, and that Andy’s pissed. At you. For bailing, and stealing that cross earring he always wears.”

“Oh. That.”

“Did you really? Impressive. You’ve got guts. Anyway, Jaime asked me to come scoop you up, ‘cause all the Tenderloin vampires are under instructions to kill you if they see you. I’m not exactly on great terms with Andy, so I figured why not take what he wants? You’re mine now, sweetie, at least until Andy’s overthrown.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re. Staying. Here.”

“No, I know that. What does ‘until Andy’s overthrown’ mean? Is that likely?”

The warlock shrugged and met Vic’s eyes with his teal-gray gaze like the bay on a winter morning. “It’s inevitable, but it might not be a while. Katelynn, the last leader, was in power for fifty-three years until Andy killed her.” Kellin’s eyes turned sad, and flickered briefly away from Vic’s face as he continued speaking. “Anyway, I’m not saying you’ll be here for fifty years, but...for now, most of the city isn’t too safe for you. And I don’t mind keeping you for a while.”

“Alright...thanks,” Vic said tentatively. He wasn’t too fond of Kellin so far, but figured he wasn’t in any position to refuse, and after everything that had happened in the last week, he _was_ grateful to have a safe and semi-normal place to stay. Besides, he wasn’t exactly making a promise; he figured he could leave any time, even run out into the sun if it came to it.

“But you’re gonna have to eat.”

Vic shook his head.

“Don’t be stupid, I’m not gonna make you kill any mundies.” Kellin rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you...you can have some of mine.”

“Some of your...?”

“Blood.”

“Okay. Okay.” Vic took a deep breath, closing his eyes and composing himself. “Can I just...can I just sleep first?” Now that he thought of it, he was fucking exhausted. He hadn’t slept comfortably in what seemed like a long, long time.  
“Fine. I got another room down this way.” The blue-haired warlock led his vampire guest down a short hallway, directing him through a pale blue-painted door at the end. “I’ll be in and out all day, but I should be back by the time you wake up. And oh, by the way, I cast a protective spell over this place. Your vampire buddies can’t find ya here.”

“Thanks. So much.”

Kellin nodded and left; as soon as he was gone, Vic collapsed on the queen bed and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story title from "Texas is Forever," chapter title from "Bulls in the Bronx." I don't own the bands or their songs, etc., etc.
> 
> I'll try to update this weekly but I'm a horrible procrastinator so don't hold your breath! Let me know if you like the story; it's my first shot at a more complicated plot and I'm not sure if I succeeded! 
> 
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	2. Ruin My Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit happens. Also, Beebo. Beebo happens.
> 
> (Sorry this is so short. Hopefully summer break will mean more writing time.)

When Vic woke, the sky was dark behind gauzy teal curtains. Every part of his body ached, and when he tried to prop himself up on his elbows, he fell back weakly. 

A slim, regal figure swept into the room within seconds. “Hungry?” He flicked on the bedside lamp, washing the room with soft gold.

“Yeah.” The warlock perched on the edge of the bed, and Vic rolled to face him. 

Kellin offered his wrist, taking a deep, stabilizing breath as cool caramel hands clamped over his forearm. Leaning closer to the heat of smooth, pale skin, Vic felt his fangs snap into place.

Inches from Kellin’s arm, he stopped. “You have scars.” He traced the straight white lines with calloused fingertips.

“Fuck off,” came the growl from above him, with obviously false anger. “Just drink.”

Vic obeyed, pressing down until he felt the skin break. It was so clean, so perfectly fragile. Then the blood. Warm, thick, and abundant. Vic felt his throat, his chest, his stomach, fill with energy and pure oblivion. He drank desperately. More and more and more.

Kellin let out a low moan, bringing Vic back to his senses. He jerked his head back, pressing the palms of his hands to his forehead as his mind cleared and flooded with adrenaline. “I'm sorry,” he muttered, wiping the excess blood from Kellin’s arm with his shirt sleeve. “I’m so sorry. Did it hurt? Did I take too much?”

“No.” The High Warlock studied the wound, then smirked and returned Vic's gesture, gently cleaning red drops from the vampire’s lips and jaw. “Actually, it felt good. If you hadn't stopped yourself, I probably would've let you take all of it.”

“Would you have died?” 

“Hmm?”

“I said, would you have died? If I had taken all your blood?”

“Oh, sweetie, I can't die. Well, not like that. It would take a lot more than  _ you  _ to kill  _ me _ .” 

“You know, I don't get you.” The dark-eyed vampire sat up straight, filled with energy and confidence from the blood, and fixed his gaze on the curve of the navy blue comforter draped across his legs.

“Elaborate.” Kellin didn’t seem offended, just amused.

“Why are you helping me? I don’t understand. You take me home and give me a place to sleep and let me drink your fucking blood. But you also act like I’m a stupid little kid. Why do you give a shit about me?  _ Do  _ you even give a shit about me?”

“Can’t you just be grateful for my help? Aren’t you happy not to be a pile of ash in front of Lynn’s café?”

“ _ I didn’t ask for your help! _ I would have gladly burned to death. It would be better than being stuck in the Castro with a condescending bitch and Andy’s weird cult after my ass.”

_ “I’m the condescending bitch? You have got to be fucking-” _

“No. Shut up and just listen for once. You  _ are _ a condescending bitch. You  treat me like your little doll that you stole from Andy because...I don’t fucking know why. You’re like his jealous ex or something, but I’m not your kid. I’m not your fucking dog. You don't get to play tug-of-war with me like-” 

“Go, then. Leave.”

Vic wasn’t surprised; without missing a beat, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and strode calmly to the door. “Fuck you,” he called over his shoulder, slamming the door behind him.

 

He wasn't sure where he was going, but he knew it was far, far away from the Castro. Far away from the Tenderloin. Far away from Andy and Jaime and Lynn and Kellin. 

He walked with his head down and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his gray hoodie, watching the toes of his Converse fall against the pavement in a muffled series of  _ click, click, click _ s.

He wasn’t paying any attention to his surroundings at all, but the accident wasn’t entirely Vic’s fault. The man in question was definitely off his face. And while the drugs didn't help his coordination, they seemed to enhance his mood; to Vic’s relief, he took the collision in stride. “Hey, babe! Soo sorry about that. Oh hey, you’re a vamp, huh?” To Vic's surprise and slight chagrin, the man reached out and plied his lips open with two delicate but calloused fingers, studying the space in his teeth where his fangs snapped in. “Ohhhh, you're  _ that _ vamp!” He giggled. “Quinn’s been texting us for, like, hours. Well  _ an _ hour. Whatever. Anyway, come back to my place? ‘D love to have ya.”

“No thanks,” Vic replied primly, pulling his jaw out of the strange man’s grasp.

“Not a choice,” the guy slurred, giggling again and clicking two fingers together weakly. “Dammit!” He snapped his fingers again, this time producing a disproportionately loud  _ crack! _ and sending a ribbon of pure black, silk-like material out into the night. It snaked around Vic’s torso, wrists, and forearms, weaving an inescapable net of sorts; from the waist up, he was all but paralyzed. “You are now in the custody of Brendon Urie, high warlock of the Castro! Get it? ‘Cause I’m not the  _ High  _ Warlock, but I’m high! And I’m a warlock!” Brendon Urie laughed maniacally. “Anyway, follow me. Or I’ll shoot!” He laughed harder, if that was even possible. “Man, I love saying that.”


	3. So Melodramatic, But It Turns Me On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of drama. Some Brallon. Mostly just setup, tbh- next week, a certain werewolf will bring some answers!

There was a man asleep on Brendon Urie’s bed. He had a thin, boyish face with a spiky crown of milk-chocolate hair splayed across the pillow. His body was long, lanky, and completely bare down to his hipbones, which were draped with a white linen sheet that (just barely) preserved his modesty. 

With a sigh and an unusually tender expression, Brendon leaned over the bed and gripped the man’s narrow shoulders, gently shaking him awake. “Dallon,” he muttered, so softly that Vic felt embarrassed, out of place. 

Dallon sat up, his eyelids flickering up to reveal electric irises the color of twilight. “What the fuck, Brendon? It’s like, fucking 2 AM.”

“I’m sorry, man, I gotta...do important warlock stuff. Look, Quinn’s been having some trouble with the Tenderloin Clan and-”

But Dallon’s gaze had already landed on Vic, and his features were set in a scathing glare. “Fuck off, Urie,” he spit. “I know you’re banging every Downworlder in a seven-mile radius, and I do my best to put up with it, but two guys in one night? And a  _ vamp _ , too?” 

“No, no, no, it’s not like that,” Brendon insisted. “Come back tomorrow night. I’ll explain. Everything. I’ll make it right. I promise.” He purred the last few words, reaching out to trace the line of Dallon’s collarbone with a glittery black fingernail. 

“I’m done with your shit, Brendon. I can’t do this anymore.” He pushed Brendon’s hand away firmly as he stood up. Vic averted his eyes instinctively, though on closer inspection, Dallon turned out to be wearing blue boxers, slung low over his hips. 

Having pulled on black skinny jeans and a t-shirt advertising some obscure indie band, Dallon began to stalk out of the room, but paused, seeming to consider something. Suddenly, he whirled around and stormed over to a wide-eyed Brendon. With an odd kind of hungry hatred, Dallon dug his nails into Brendon’s scalp and mashed their lips together, kissing him with vengeance, so hard Vic could hear their teeth collide. 

He made his final exit with a rough nod towards the bemused and slightly mortified vampire. “Have fun,” he snarled, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

The room buzzed with shell-shocked silence.

Finally, the high warlock spoke. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He gave Vic an appraising glance. “You twenty-one yet? I need a fucking...beer or something. Maybe a joint...”

 

“What was I to him? I don’t even know..what the hell we were doing. It was just fucking...but then I liked him, I really liked him and I don’t know if he liked me too...but we had a thing and it was  _ our thing and now he’s gone. _

Forty-five minutes and several beers later, Brendon was sprawled on the couch, shirtless, his curving, cruel-tipped goat horns on full display, as he had become too drunk to concentrate on keeping them hidden with a glamour. Vic sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, sipping delicately at a glass of wine and nodding consolingly as Brendon sobbed his love for Dallon. 

“He’ll come back,” Vic reassured him.

“No, he won’t,” the warlock wailed. “You don’t...even know him. He’s so sure of himself, yanno? Once he makes a decision...it’s just...made. He makes grand gestures. He’s such a...a  _ big person. _ He’s like a god.  _ He’s like..fucking...God...and I lost him. _ ”

“Ok, you know what?” Vic stood up, toying with the hem of his shirt and avoiding Brendon’s eyes. “I think I should go now.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

Vic started. Someone had spoken, but Brendon’s lips hadn’t moved. And the voice was light, clean, lacking the temper and tone of Brendon’s. 

He turned and found himself face-to-face with the High Warlock of San Francisco.

“Good job, Urie.” Kellin grinned, resting two obsidian talons on the ridge of Vic’s shoulder.

“Fuck  _ off _ , Quinn.” Brendon jumped to his feet, teetering a little as he stood on his cloven hooves. “Your little fuckin’... charity case lost Dallon.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Dallon left. It’s your...fucking...fault. Sonofa _ bitch. _ ”

“Actually, I think it’s your fault,” Kellin reasoned. “ _ You’re _ the one who’s been sleeping with anything that breathes. I don’t blame Weekes at all. Who, in their right mind,” he paused, smirking, for dramatic effect, “would stay with  _ you _ ?”

Brendon was up faster than Vic would’ve thought possible in his drunken state. He charged, horns leveled at the High Warlock’s narrow chest, looking both ridiculous and terrifying. 

Kellin snickered and muttered a few indistinguishable words. Inches from collision, Brendon slowed nearly to a halt, moving as if through molasses, allowing Kellin to nimbly step aside. “I have the money, Urie,” he reminded the furious warlock. “ _ And  _ the weed. So calm the fuck down.”

Still in painstaking slow motion, Brendon straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the two men who stood by. Kellin nodded and reversed the spell, smirking contentedly. “Much better. All right, Urie. The vamp is gonna have to crash here for the day. Thanks to your little soap opera, the sun’s almost up.” Kellin gritted his teeth. “I told you to text  _ as soon as you found him _ , for fuck’s sake.”

Brendon rolled his eyes with an earth-shaking sigh. “Fine. I have a room for him.”

“And because I can’t trust  _ your _ dumb ass, I’m staying, too.”

“I don’t...you’re not welcome, Quinn,” Brendon snarled.

“I’m the High Warlock of San Francisco.” Kellin laughed his cruel, mesmerizing laugh. “Do I really have to remind you that I. Am welcome.  _ Everywhere _ .”

“Then...you can stay with V...the vamp. And...stay out of my fucking sight.”

“Of course.”

 

Vic sat on the floor of Brendon’s guest bedroom, pulled his knees up to his chest, and buried his head in his arms. He didn’t cry; his head and chest were aching, hollow, incapable of tears. He just breathed- deep, ragged, breaths that scraped the back of his throat and never seemed to be enough. 

Kellin paced the floor by the lightly-cobwebbed window on the other side of the room. He stared out into the early-morning city, restless, silent, ignoring Vic completely. 

As the darkness wasted away, yielded to the approaching dawn, the room was washed in two kinds of pain; at once separate and the same. The sun rose over the hills, wearing its own shade of gold; Vic fell asleep, slowly, and Kellin closed the curtains, very gently.


	4. Run Our Blood Thin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EXPOSITION TIME! I hope it's not too hard to follow lmao. I've never done so much backstory in my life.

“Are you fucking-”

“Shh! Vic’s still sleeping...”

The warlocks’ voices faded and blended into a single buzzing melody through the thin walls of the apartment. Vic lay completely motionless, focusing on the sound and straining to pick out individual words through the cadences of the conversation. 

“-I’m not working with - probably hate my guts-”

“-he called and asked-”

“-don’t need us - especially not-”

“-just trust - been a good-”

Silence, until: “-hold on - just gonna check-”

A split second too late, Vic realized what was happening. There was no time to feign sleep as the door swung open and a familiar figure entered, hesitating and then padding gracefully to the vampire’s bedside. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Vic sat up carefully, reluctant to disturb the thick, still air with the rustle of his body against the mattress. 

“A- um,” Kellin cleared his throat and looked away, uncharacteristically flustered. “Are you doing okay?”

Vic nodded slowly, coldly; “I’m fine.”

The warlock sensed the tension in his voice; in a strange way, the hostility seemed to bring him back into his own. He locked eyes with Vic, puffing his chest noticeably, and asked, calm and condescending, “Are you really?”

Vic cocked an eyebrow. “No. I’m not fucking okay. How in G-” he choked on the word ‘God,’ but continued, mostly unfazed, “-how in the hell do you expect me to be okay when my brother died, and I got turned into a vampire, and Andy wants to kill me, and now I’m stuck, fucking starving, in this freakshow where no one actually gives a shit about me.”

Kellin’s lips parted slightly and he breathed in as if to say something, but changed his mind and exhaled deeply.

In the hollow of his chest, Vic felt anger building, and with it, confidence. “I’m gonna say it again. Just let me go. I’ll run out into the sunlight, and you won’t have to worry about me ever again. Andy won’t be able to get me, either. Everyone wins.”

“God, haven’t you figured it out by now?”

“What the hell are you even-”

“Hey, guys?” The bedroom door was flung violently aside, hitting the wall with a loud _crack_. “Sooo, guess who decided to drop by?”  
Brendon’s eyes met Kellin’s, triggering an intense, silent conversation. After a few strained seconds, Kellin nodded and strode out, rearranging his features into the smooth, self-assured mask that Vic had come to recognize. Brendon made a hissing sound in the back of his throat as he followed the blue-haired man out the door. There was a muted crash from the hall, then heavy quiet.

Vic contemplated whether to investigate or stay put. His mind was made up for him when the door swung open once again. 

“Hi. Vic, right?” A man with messy brown hair walked in, laughing nervously as he bumped his elbow against the doorframe. “Our, uh,  _ friends  _ are...negotiating, but I thought I could just hang out in here?” 

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Vic shrugged, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

The man loped over to Vic’s bedside on his long, thin legs. “Oh yeah, and I’m Alex. I’m a werewolf.”

“Oh.” Vic wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that revelation. “Cool. I’m, um, a vampire.”

“Dude, I know who you are. You’re the guy who majorly pissed off Biersack.” Alex chuckled and shook his head. “Normally I don’t hang with vamps, but you ran away from the Clan  _ and _ stole Biersack’s damn cross. That takes balls.”

The corners of Vic’s mouth quirked up, for the first time in what felt like years. He liked talking to Alex; the werewolf seemed so earnest and  _ normal _ . It was almost like being a regular guy again, just talking to a friend. “Man, I don't even know what the big deal is about that stupid cross. I just grabbed it on my way out ‘cause I noticed he wears it all the time and I thought he might be kinda jacked if I took it.”

Alex tilted his head. “Nobody told you about  _ her _ ? Seriously?”

“Nobody told me about who?”

“Yanno.” Alex's eyes flitted uneasily around the room. “Juliet.” 

Vic racked his brains, trying to recall any mention of a Juliet. “Nah,” he decided. “Nobody tells me  _ shit _ .”

“Ohhh.” Alex sucked in his cheeks. “Well, I guess I have to tell you now.”

“Would be nice,” Vic agreed.

The werewolf nodded slowly. “Anyone asks, you heard it from shit-faced goat-man.”

“Alright.” 

“Ah, Christ, where do I start?  Well, so, a couple years ago now, Andy wasn’t head of the Tenderloin Clan, yet. It was this chick named Katelynne. She was pretty cool. Obviously, we didn’t get along too well, but if we were just normal humans I might’ve... Anyway. Andy was part of Katelynne’s Clan, and so was his girlfriend, Juliet Simms. They had some friends in the Clan, and they seemed fairly well-respected but...I dunno. I dunno exactly what she was like. All I know is she and Katelynne had always, uh,  _ clashed _ a little bit. 

“‘Cause Juliet was pretty old, I think. Probably pushing 500, from what I’ve heard. People used to say she got her name from  _ Romeo and Juliet _ . Like, the original production of  _ Romeo and Juliet _ . I dunno, but she was super old, and she had very... _ traditional  _ ideas. I don’t know how the hell she ended up in goddamn  _ San Francisco _ , but anyway...she didn’t like the idea of inter-species mingling. As in, werewolves and fairies, vampires and warlocks, etcetera. Apparently, she was super Christian, and she had a lot of internalized hatred or whatever. 

“So one day she and Kate accidentally drank from this girl who was doing crack. They were alone, on the street, and it was kind of late, and somehow or other they started this really heated argument. They were both kind of off their asses, and it got ugly pretty quick.

“Juliet started insulting Katelynne’s boyfriend, ‘cause he was a warlock. Apparently, they had argued about it before, but this time it was  _ really  _ nasty. Kate got super pissed because I think she really, really, loved him, and she was always pretty defensive of him. 

“Anyway...they got into a physical fight and I don’t know the details, but, somehow, Juliet ended up dead.” Alex’s gaze seemed distant, fixed on something far beyond Vic’s physical body, and even farther beyond his understanding. “That was when things got...crazy. Kate seemed legitimately sorry, and she kept saying she wasn’t in her right mind, but Andy was fucking  _ pissed _ . He was just...so, so furious. I can’t even describe it. He waited a couple days to make his move, and those were probably some of the scariest days of my life. It was like every Downworlder in the city could feel how angry he was, and we were fucking terrified. 

“Finally, he got his little posse together, and they cornered her. Nobody even tried to stop them. Her boyfriend had been hanging out with her, trying to defend her, but she had sent him away a little while before it happened. She thought she could handle herself.” 

He didn’t have to elaborate; the look on his face said enough. It was quiet for a few seconds before he continued. “So, the cross. It was really important to Juliet. Faith was a big part of her human life, ironically. She always kept the cross with her, in her pocket or whatever. When they found her body, he took the cross and had it made into that earring. It burned him whenever it touched his skin, of course, but that made it even better. It became a sign of not only his past, but also his strength and dominance. For you to steal it...”

“Alright, I think that’s enough.” 

 

Vic’s head snapped around to face the door, and Alex leapt to his feet. “Kellin, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were...how long have you been there?”

“Long enough. Both of you should know by now that the High Warlock knows  _ everything. _ ” Kellin clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. To Vic’s relief, he didn’t appear to be angry, but Alex still seemed nervous.

“I- I’m sorry,” the werewolf stuttered. “I know it’s none of my business and...I should probably just go...” He attempted to dart from the room but was stopped by a taloned hand against his chest. 

“Don’t worry, Gaskarth.” The High Warlock’s half-smile was gentle and sad. “He deserves to know.” Kellin withdrew his long, spindly fingers from where they rested on the taller man’s torso. “Go on, now. Your pack is waiting for you.”

Alex inclined his head and disappeared into the hall. 

Vic rose and stood in front of Kellin, arms crossed. “What just happened? Why was Alex so freaked out? And why did  _ he  _ have to tell me all that shit?”

The warlock ran a hand through the blue feathers that lined his scalp. “You know, honestly? I fucked everything up.”

Vic stared. The vulnerable look in Kellin’s storm-green eyes, the sincere tone in his high voice, were so completely out of character. “How?” He had the feeling that Kellin was going to elaborate, but he couldn’t bear the silence between sentences, the torment of waiting to know more.

“I just didn’t want you to think...that I was doing this as some kind of messed up revenge scheme.”

“What? Why would it be...what?”

“I just want you to know that I’m trying to protect you because I actually care about you. I mean, originally, it wasn’t like that but now...I don’t want you to think that I’m doing all of this just because I wanted to get back at him.”

Vic’s mind was racing, working as fast as it could without adequate blood or sleep. Somehow, he was unable to interpret, to analyze, to find the underlying pattern in all the stories he had been told

“I’m sorry. I’m not being clear. What I’m trying to say is...I was worried that if I told you the whole story, you would hate me even more than you already do. That you would think I was using you to get revenge on him for...for murdering my girlfriend.”


	5. Heartbeats Away From Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More melodramatic fighting and emo descriptions of San Francisco. Oops. Alex is still pure, though. Bonus points if you can find the MCR reference.

“Oh.” It took a moment to sink in. But no more than a moment. Now that Vic finally had all the pieces, the puzzle came together quickly and neatly. “You were...dating Katelynne? That’s why you hate Andy so much.” 

“Well, yeah, but that was years ago.” Kellin pressed his lips together. “I’ve come to terms with it.”

Vic snorted. “No, you haven’t.” 

The warlock sighed. “See,  _ this _ is why I didn’t tell you about Kate. You’re just so dumb about this stuff. You’re so busy wallowing in your emo-vampire misery that you can’t accept, for one goddamn second, that somebody might actually want to help you.”

“Well, excuse me if I’m not super psyched that I had to see my brother murdered in front of me! And then _proceeded to become one of the things that killed him.”_  
“Oh, _get over it!_ You’re immortal now- trust me, you’re gonna see much worse shit than that. In fact, almost everyone you love from now on will die and leave you completely fucking alone. So deal with it. I’ve managed to live three hundred years like this.”

“Well,  _ I’M NOT YOU! _ ” 

Vic really hadn’t meant to yell like that. It usually took a hell of a lot to make him really, genuinely lose it, but Kellin had done it with ease; winding him up like it was an art form, a study on anger, signed with flair. 

Chin up, breathing steadily, Kellin took a few steps back to lean against the wall by the door. Avoiding his gaze, Vic crossed the room to the window and drew the curtains apart. 

From the second-story bedroom, San Francisco was a delicate web of gold and silver light, sprawling and stunning under the velvety dark shawl of night.  It was not such an uncommon sight, but to Vic, in that moment, it was inexplicably, indescribably beautiful. 

His view of the city blurred suddenly as tears filled his eyes. It was too much for him to bear; everything hurt. The stinging tension that filled the room; the clawing ache of hunger; the dull, unrelenting pulse of physical and mental exhaustion; the dark, parasitic mass of fear and grief that seemed to have lodged itself in his chest. He hated to cry, especially in front of Kellin, but all of a sudden he felt so overwhelmed, so alone. More than anything, he wanted to be back at home, in San Diego, with his band and family intact; he wanted to go back in time and cancel the gig in San Francisco, never set foot in this gorgeous and insane and bloodthirsty city. 

“Oh, my god, don’t cry.” Kellin’s intonation was a strange and not-so-subtle mixture of panic, guilt, and something much softer, almost like empathy. 

“Please,” Vic’s voice was tight and cool as he could manage, “just go.”

“Yeah. I should be helping Brendon with the wolves anyway...”

 

“You’re fucking kidding. After all this shit, you’re just letting me waltz on out of here?”

“Well, first of all, it’s not exactly like that, and second of all, it wasn’t entirely my decision.”

“Weren’t really your decision t’all,” a rough, heavily British-accented voice observed. 

“No offense, Oli, but shut the fuck up. I’m still the High Warlock.”

“I’m the alpha of a fuckin’  _ wolf pack _ . I don’ give a shit. Hurry up an’ say bye to yer loverboy. We’re gettin’ that sonofabitch outta here ‘s soon as possible.”

Vic threw up his hands. “You know what, I’m not gonna argue. Just get me the fuck out of here.”

Oli smirked. “Done. Quinn, care t’ explain the plan?”

“Fine.” Kellin rolled his eyes. “I set up a portal. Gaskarth and his husband escort you through the portal. You settle in with the San Diego Clan. We wage war. We win. Everyone wins, except Andy.”

Vic considered the plan for a short amount of time. “Okay,” he decided. “But I hope you know that you don’t have to wage any kind of war...”

The warlock rolled his eyes again and opened his mouth, but Oli cut him off with a carefully concocted patience. “Don’ worry yer pretty head. This was long in the makin’. And his bastards bin killin’ cubs now.” He shook his head. “Wouldn’ mind rippin’ his throat out.”

“Alright...when do we leave?”

Kellin’s smile was crooked and cocky, but something seemed off. There was a wistfulness, almost regret, to his voice as he said, “Soon as the sun goes down.”

 

At 9PM, the bright bedside lamp clicked on and the backs of Vic’s eyelids glowed red. He was reluctant to open them, even though he hadn’t really been sleeping (these days, it seemed all he did was sleep); more than anything, he just didn’t want to deal with Kellin. 

But the hands that gently shook him awake didn’t feel like the slim, delicate hands of a warlock- they were broad, careworn, heavy against his bare upper arms. “Hey dude, I brought you some blood.”

“Alex?” Vic sat up straight, pleasantly surprised as he recognized the gangly,  werewolf kneeling next to him.

“Yeah, man, just me. And here's this-” with a look of mild disgust, he passed Vic a plastic water bottle of thick, dark scarlet fluid. “I'm not a huge fan of the whole...blood thing, but I volunteered to bring it up here for you.”

“Thanks.” Vic accepted the blood and held it to his body, fiddling with the cap. “I really appreciate it.” His fangs snapped into place before he could do anything about it, and if he had any blood flow, he would have turned cherry red. He hadn’t wanted to drink in front of Alex because he was still embarrassed and more than a little freaked out about his fangs.

Thankfully, Alex seemed to sense this. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone to drink. Meet us in front of the building in ten minutes. Oh, and Quinn left some stuff for you to change into, if you want.”

“Great, thanks so much.”

The werewolf nodded, grinned sheepishly, and ducked out of the room.

 

Invigorated by the blood and beyond overjoyed to be going back to San Diego, Vic practically flew down the stairs of Brendon’s apartment building. Kellin’s clothes- ripped skinny jeans, a David Bowie t-shirt, and a purple-and-black flannel- fit him surprisingly well, in an oddly satisfying way. (Kellin had also left him a pair of TOMS, which Vic chose to forgo in favor of his old but familiar Chuck Taylors.) The warlock had even been thoughtful enough to provide him with a messenger bag, which Vic stuffed with his dirty clothing, as well as the stolen cross, finally liberated from its haphazard position in the front pocket of Vic’s hoodie.

He still wasn’t necessarily thrilled at the prospect of having to face Kellin, Brendon, and/or Oli, but he didn’t mind so much as long as Alex was there, and as long as he could be back home in just a few hours. 

“Okay, I hear ‘im on the stairs. Get on with it, Quinn.” Vic recognized the raspy, Sheffield-bred voice before he saw the alpha wolf himself.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, hold on.”

“Remind me again why we have to do this out here?” As Vic stepped out onto the sidewalk, Brendon’s voice sounded. “This invisibility glamour is  _ not _ easy to keep up.” 

“Shut up, Urie, I’m trying to make this goddamn Portal.” 

“Fine.”

Oli, Kellin, and Brendon were standing in a cluster on the sidewalk, Kellin mumbling and pressing his hands against the wall, Brendon facing the street with a look of mild pain, and Oli presiding over the goings-on with a watchful scowl. Alex stood a little ways away, holding hands and talking quietly with a slightly taller, messy-haired man. 

Turning sharply to face the newcomer,the alpha wolf crossed his arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Nice of yeh to show up.” 

Under Oli’s dark, intense, semi-manic stare, all Vic could do was smile nervously and flatten himself against the wall, examining the cracks and sickly weeds twisting over the sidewalk. 

After a few tense, hushed moments, there was a crackling noise and an explosion of brilliant light in all shades of pink and purple. The swirling glow of the Portal washed the group of Downworlders in dancing slashes and spots of lavender,  mauve, rose, magenta, violet. 

Kellin stepped back from his work, exhausted but satisfied. “Okay, you three should make it out of here as soon as possible. Vic, I promise Alex and Jack will give you a little more explanation, but not until you’re out of the city and safe. This Portal should take you straight to the San Diego pack’s headquarters. I’ll leave it open for a few minutes in case you need to get back quickly for whatever reason, but that shouldn’t be necessary.” 

Alex walked over to Vic and clapped him on the back. “Look alive, sunshine- we’re taking you back home. You’re gonna get to live the high life with the San Diego Clan.” The corners of Alex’s mouth turned up, a smile infused with joy and sadness in equal shares. “I’ve heard they’re super sweet. And glamorous.”

“Awesome.” Vic nodded, glancing around at the four men who stood studying him, and at Brendon’s back as the warlock focused on keeping up his glamour. “Let’s go, then.” 

“Yeah...” Kellin’s gaze was distant and wistful, as if the High Warlock was reading ancient, arcane secrets within the swirling light of the portal.

The others seemed reluctant to move. Slowly, Alex, Jack, and Vic shifted into a line in front of the Portal. “Go on,” Kellin urged. 

Alex, then Jack, stepped through; disappeared into the bright vortex of magic. Vic took a steadying breath and made to follow them when he felt a hand on his arm, bird-bone light but insistent. He turned and was confused but not surprised to find that the hand belonged to one Kellin Quinn. 

Kellin opened his mouth and froze, seemingly lost for words. Vic was about to push him away and escape through the Portal when the blue-haired man blurted, “I’m so sorry. That’s it. I’m just so sorry.”

Then, to the vampire’s profound astonishment, Kellin leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, missing his mouth so narrowly that Vic wasn’t even sure he had missed on purpose. The echo of the kiss smarted and sparked, a live wire between the Downworlders as they stood avoiding each other’s gazes in the cool evening. As Kellin sloppily shoved Vic through the Portal, and as he stepped out onto solid concrete on the other side.

Alex and Jack’s worried expressions morphed into relief at the sight of their charge. “Took you long enough.” Alex grinned dryly. “Let’s get inside.”

He ducked into the nearest building, which appeared to be a run-of-the-mill Southern California skate shop that had closed up for the night. Maneuvering between the rows of cheap, bright boards and blocky graphic tees, Alex lead Jack and Vic through a narrow black door behind the counter and into the dingy backroom. 

The man in the backroom was broad-shouldered and black-haired, heavily tattooed and wearing an odd expression: expectant but hostile, amused but irritated. He tilted his chin up. “Hey. Gaskarth and Barakat?”

“Yeah...” Alex sounded terrified.

“And that’s Fuentes?”

“Mmm-hhm.” Alex bobbed his head, visibly trying to compose himself.

“Well, my name is Ronnie Radke, and I-”

Alex’s face turned ghostly pale as realization dawned. “Motherfucker,” he spat, turning wild eyes on Jack and Vic. “Back to the Portal.  _ Run!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry if you're British and I offended you with my attempt at writing Oli's accent. I've never really written an accent before. Forgive me?


	6. Hate the Aftertaste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short ass chapter, because graduation is stressful and I am the slowest writer in history. I promise I'll try to clear things up a little better next week!

Vic still wasn’t used to his vampire speed and strength, but he was damn grateful for it as he hurtled through the Portal, beating out all of the werewolves.

He didn’t really know why he was running, and the last thing he had wanted to do was go straight back to San Francisco, but something in Alex and Ronnie’s faces had told him to move now and ask questions later.

So it was that he barrelled into a startled Oli, who steadied the incoming vampire with his broad hands, then quickly moved him aside and lunged toward the Portal, presumably hoping to see his pack members.

He was not disappointed as Alex sailed through, morphing from wolf to man as he stood. The wolves, both near bloodless, exchanged a panicked look. “Jack.”

“Yeah.”

“He was right behind me.”

“Shit!”

“Do you guys want me to-”

But before Kellin could finish his question, Jack tumbled through the Portal, in human form, screaming, “Close the goddamn Portal! _Close the fucking Portal!”_

“Fine, fine, okay, I’m trying!” Tendrils of blush-pink magic seeped from Kellin’s hands only to be absorbed by the larger pool of light. “Fuck!” he yelled, producing a flash of blinding hot pink. A lean, inked-in hand extended out from the Portal before it collapsed in on itself and faded away, taking Ronnie’s hand with it.

“Fuck,” Kellin said again, kicking at the brick wall of Brendon’s apartment building. “What the hell happened?”

Alex ground a fist into the palm of his hand. “Ronnie. Ronnie happened.”

Kellin’s eyes went wide. Oli sucked in his cheeks. Brendon, who until now had been facing away, focusing on his glamour, whipped around and dropped all pretense of continuing to do his magic.

Kellin was the first to recover. “Well, if Andy’s gotten Ronnie involved, he must be scared.”

Brendon nodded nervously.

The High Warlock smirked, once again arrogant as ever. “But we do need to know _exactly_ what happened, Gaskarth.”

Alex wasn’t listening. Halfway through Kellin’s last sentence, he had realized what the others hadn’t given second thought to: while Jack had escaped San Diego alive, he was not unscathed. This became increasingly apparent as shining flecks of scarlet dripped onto the rough gray of the sidewalk, fleeing in long, uneven rivulets from a jagged gash in the back of Jack’s t-shirt.

The injured werewolf clung gratefully to his husband, grimacing and breathing raggedly as the blood continued to stream. “We have to get him to a hospital. Now,” Alex ordered. “Quinn, can’t you make a Portal to San Francisco General or something?”

“Um, no. Do you know how much magic it takes to make a Portal? Not even _I_ can make two Portals in fifteen minutes. Look, not to be insensitive, but UCSF is right over there. Just walk.”

“Do you seriously think,” Alex growled, “that Jack can fucking _walk_ _to UCSF_ right now? He can barely _stand_.”

Oli stepped in before the indignant warlock could retort. “Shut the fuck up, all o’ yeh. One of us actually has a _driver’s license_. The pack left us a car- I’ll just drive yeh to UCSF, if yer not gonna waste anymore time arguin’.”

Alex shook his head, lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re right. Let’s go.” He inclined his head towards the warlocks, and patted Vic on the shoulder. “Sorry, guys.”

The alpha slipped Jack’s arm over his own neck, and the three wolves loped off, blending into a tangle of dark hair and pale gold skin as they disappeared into the warm blue-gray of the twilit street.

 

“So, clearly San Diego is out of the picture.” Kellin lifted his head from his hands to glance around nervously again; he was worried, Vic assumed, that the haphazard protective spell over Brendon’s apartment would break at any moment. The thought had crossed his own mind, more than once.

But they needed to get on with it, he decided. He couldn’t wait to escape this life of constant fear and loneliness and the kind of melancholy that only the San Francisco fog could bring. “Well...what were you guys saying about, uh, ‘waging war?’ Couldn’t I just stay and help with that?”

Brendon’s noise of assent was choked off by Kellin’s laser-like glare. “Fuck, no,” the High Warlock hissed. “You’re an _infant_ by vamp standards. You’re, like, three fucking weeks old. How the hell are you planning to take on three- or four-hundred-year-old vampires?”

“I won’t be fighting them _alone_ ,” Vic pointed out. “It sounds like the werewolves are more than willing to help.” He tried to keep his cool and come off as reasonable, in order to prevent another one of the dramatic outbursts that Kellin was so prone to.

“Exactly. The wolves want revenge on the Clan for killing cubs. Brendon and a couple of the other warlocks will probably be willing to help out, ‘cause they love drama and I can pay them in weed and leniency. We have _plenty_ of fighters. Maybe we can even get the Shadowhunters involved-”

“Not after the Frank incident,” Brendon countered. “The Shadowhunters will _never_ trust a warlock again.”

“Fine, maybe not the Shadowhunters. But the wolves by themselves would be enough. And don’t forget that we’ll have to have help from inside the Clan- really, our only purpose will be to get Jaime Preciado into a position where he can kill Andy.” Kellin’s eyes, now a deep, cloudy jade, flitted around the room once again before settling heavily on Vic. “So we don’t need you, little vampire. You’ll go into hiding at my place until Andy is dead, then we’ll reinstate you to the Clan.”

Vic’s eyes, dark and clear like black coffee, fluttered closed, then open, then found Kellin’s and were still. And he agreed without really agreeing, because he knew what he needed to do.


	7. I Think We're Bleeding Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super gratuitous tbh. I'm just way too lazy to write action-y stuff this week.

It was a long and tense walk to Kellin’s apartment. Kellin had been highly reluctant to travel so openly in the middle of the night, but eventually even he was loathe to intrude on Brendon any longer. 

So the High Warlock walked in silence, followed by a slight, sharp-boned vampire who hummed idly as he strode along.

Presently the warlock slowed his stride, and fell back to keep pace with Vic. The vampire looked up swiftly, surprised, then bowed his head, unwilling to make eye contact. 

“What’re you singing?”

Vic’s eyes swung back up to his companion’s face, slightly startled and unsure of the other man’s motives. “Nothing,” he replied, hesitantly. “One of my band’s songs. ‘S called ‘Pierce the Veil.’”

“Huh. Interesting title.”

“Thanks, I guess? My- my brother thought of it.” 

Kellin nodded, slowly. “I’m...I’m sorry.” It came off as stiff, unnatural, but Vic was amazed that he had said it at all.

He also wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He settled on: “Yeah. We, uh, don’t have to talk about it.”

“Of course. I just feel so... You know what, you’re right. Let’s not talk about it.”

Suddenly smothered by the silence between sentences and anxious to escape the subject of his brother, Vic asked the question that had been bothering him for hours. “So, uh, what’s the big deal about Ronnie Rad-key?”

Kellin grimaced. “Radke’s an old friend of Andy’s. He’s actually been banned from San Francisco since 2007. I don’t know what he’s been doing since then, but if he’s in San Diego now, that’s extremely bad news. I'll bet anything he’s already killed the former alpha. Which is a shame; Tyler was always so sweet...Anyway, if you had stayed, he was probably asked to capture you and kill anyone who came with you. You're lucky Alex recognized him.” 

“Yeah.” Vic bit the inside of his cheek, dreading a lull in the conversation. “Sucks what happened to Jack though, doesn’t it?”

Kellin twisted a glimmering blue feather between two of his talons. “He’ll be fine. Alex will help him pull through.” Vic couldn’t help but notice that Kellin’s grin was almost a sneer, his hopeful words delivered vaguely cynically. 

“I hope so,” he agreed in a clipped voice. 

Vic clasped his hands together, silently thanking God as they came to Kellin’s building. 

The gentle, dreamlike light of the city painted the High Warlock’s features into a delicate, monochromatic mask of gold: dark and dull in the contours of his cheeks, his eye sockets; pale and opaline across the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones; stunning and tinged with an alien blue in his eyes, the strands of his feather-hair. 

The thought crossed Vic’s mind that Kellin was beautiful.

It was an odd thought, and one that he entertained as Kellin ushered him through the door and up the stairs. 

Vic had been happily and openly gay since junior year; that was not the issue. There had been a string of boyfriends in the years that followed, all of them pretty, none of them made to last. And none of them anything like Kellin. Vic’s type was the rugged blonde SoCal surfer, he of the infectious smile and easy laugh and a jawline to die for. Kellin’s flamboyance; his arrogant grin; his dark-haired, svelte, effeminate figure, were new territory for Vic. 

But no, he decided, he was overthinking things. Just because he maybe -  _ possibly - _ thought Kellin was kind of hot didn’t mean he had a crush on him or anything. He chided himself and his brain for skipping straight to the topic of boyfriends. He supposed he was just desperate; now that he thought of it, he missed kissing, and sex, and just the feeling of someone lying next to him as he fell asleep. 

But Vic knew that Kellin Quinn could never be the person to satisfy that longing. He would just have to deal with the fact that he had no one. 

He was alone. So fucking alone. 

As he sat on Kellin’s guest bed and watched TV without processing anything. As he shut the curtains tight to shield him from the impending daylight. As he fell asleep, curled into himself, his last thoughts trailing into blackness.

_ I am so fucking alone. _

 

To Vic’s profound surprise and slight perturbation, he was able to slip out of Kellin’s building uncontested. He left as soon as the sun faded into the skyline, and darted for the nearest safe place. This happened to be a small, slouched bookstore, painted a cheery lavender as if to mask its weariness and distract from the grimy yellow tint of the windows. 

His mind raced as he pretended to browse the shelves. How was he going to get back? It was too long and risky to walk..

He had frozen, deep in thought, with his mouth open and one hand in midair. Another patron - a sharp, mischievous-looking man with copious tattoos and gelled-back black hair - was staring at him, one eyebrow cocked questioningly. Blushing under the stranger’s gaze, Vic grabbed the first book that caught his eye and made a point of inspecting the inside cover. But as he read the summary, the heat in his cheeks only grew more intense. 

When the other man had walked away and could be heard talking to the guy at the register, Vic shoved the book back onto the shelf and glanced around at the titles on display, the posters on the walls, the trinkets piled up on the checkout counter.

_ Because of fucking course. _

He had walked right into a gay erotica store without realizing it. 

Ducking his head and cursing his absentmindedness, he made to leave before anyone tried to make any awkward conversation. He was too late, though; the black-haired man was standing in front of him now, studying him from behind three emo bands’ worth of eye makeup. 

“You look lost,” the stranger observed. 

“I'm alright.”

“I'm William.” The man ignored Vic’s attempted rejection. “Need directions, or anything?”

“Nah. I’m fine, I swear.”

“You don’t look fine. Well-” William smirked. “-you do, but you also look lost. Where’re you headed?”

Vic caved; the guy was persistent. “Just...just the Tenderloin.”

“Reeeaally?” William drawled, looking him up and down. “Anywhere in particular?”

“Um, yeah, kind of, why?”

“I’ll give you a ride.”

“No, it’s really oka-”

“C’mon. Believe me, I can get you wherever you need to go.”

 

At Vic’s direction, the car slowed and pulled over in front of an ancient, ugly, dark gray building, ominous in the rapidly retreating light. 

“This is a crack house,” William pointed out.

Vic winced. “Yup.”

“This is an  _ abandoned _ crack house.”

“It’s also that, yeah.”

“You sure this is where you wanna be? You could always, you know, come back to my place instead.”

_ Oh. _ So  _ that  _ was why William had been so nice to him. “Nah, I need to be here. Thanks so much, though.” It wasn’t like he’d  _ asked _ for the attention, but now he felt kind of bad.

“You’re very welcome, Victor Fuentes.” William drew out Vic’s name, savoring the taste of the letters in his mouth. “One last thing before you go.” In a quick, fluid, snakelike motion, he seized Vic by the wrist, uncapped a ballpoint pen, and scrawled something on the side of the vampire’s hand. 

As Vic stepped into the cool evening air, he inspected the black marks on his skin by the dull glow of a streetlamp. The inscription read:  _ 1-888-447-5594 /if you ever need anything/ xo Will. _ He couldn’t help but grin and look back at the pale, delicate, unmistakable figure, who winked and mouthed something indeterminable as he drove off.

Vic turned away, back to facing the somber inevitability of fate. He felt no fear; only a heavy, wistful hopelessness. As he climbed the stairs, one leaden leg after another, he began to think that maybe he should have gone with William. Maybe he would have had a great night. Sex for the first time in weeks; a warm body beside him as he fell asleep; then, at the first sign of dawn, he would awake and go out to see the sunrise. It would be painless, he thought, and so clean. He would be with Mike again, and leave nothing behind but a pile of ash on the sidewalk.

Standing on Andy’s doorstep, he looked up to the sky with stinging, desperate eyes.

If only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bandom fic is not a bandom fic without a cameo from William Control. Sorry bout it.
> 
> Also, I know nobody cares but??? I'm going to see Andy next Tuesday??? My ovaries are liable to explode????


	8. Red Water As We Collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover why exactly Vic returned to the abandon crackhouse. And why exactly that was a terrible idea.

“Finally.” The voice was instantly recognizable, painfully familiar. It was a voice like charcoal, dark but ethereal, jagged but somehow melodic. “We were getting bored of hunting you down. But I knew you’d come  _ crawling...back...”  _ Andy’s voice faded to a wicked hiss as he stepped down from the shadowy stairwell, lazily examining a long, pale fingernail. 

Vic couldn’t speak. Suddenly, he realized how badly thought-out his plan was. His fingers darted to the hilt of the silver knife he had stolen from Brendon. It was tucked into the waistband of his skinny jeans, carefully angled so as not to touch his skin. He wondered if he should try to draw it without Andy noticing, or go for broke and lunge while he still had the element of surprise.

He decided on the former and gripped the leather hold as Andy paced closer, surreptitiously sliding it free, tedious centimeter by centimeter.

“So. Have you come to  _ beg _ for my  _ forgiveness _ ? To  _ plead _ for  _ safety  _ once more, within the embrace of  _ my  _ Clan?” He was close now, terrifyingly close, and his eyes held Vic’s captive. Vic’s skin liquified under that gaze, but he held it steadfast, ensuring that Andy’s dark eyes would not detect the movement of his right hand.  _ “Or have you come to give it back? To give it back, and then run, run from here like a coward?” _ Vic flinched as the taller vampire’s ghost-pale hand shot out and latched onto his shoulder.  _ “Where is it?” _

The knife, slim and deadly in its gleaming toxic silver, should have gone straight to Andy’s heart. Vic’s hand moved more quickly than he ever would have thought possible, and for a euphoric split second he believed that maybe it would be this easy. Maybe he wouldn’t have to die for this.

But Andy was so much older and so much faster, and had learned the art of battle from the best of teachers: experience and pain and bitter heartbreak. And so he caught Vic’s wrist, imprisoned it in his cage of a grip, inches from his own face. He squeezed the small bones so that Vic feared they might break, and stretched his muted crimson lips into something of a joyful sneer.  _ “Give it to me.” _

The game was up, and Vic had lost. It came as no surprise, with his lack of proper weaponry and experience. But there was something so devastating about the finality of this loss, the way his last thread of hope had been so swiftly and thoroughly severed.

He reached his left hand over to the messenger bag slung across his hip and scrabbled for the scrap of fabric that contained the cross. As he did so, he allowed his eyes to skim the semi-darkness that surrounded them, and picked out a collection of figures, lithe and silent like oddly-shaped inkblots, in various positions throughout the room. Was it comforting to know that he had never stood a chance?

_ Not really _ , he decided wryly as he pressed the cloth-wrapped object into the palm of his enemy’s hand. There was no such thing as comfort now.

Not in these end times, when the night was ruled by sex and blood and the mesmerizing growl of this cruel-smiling man in front of him.  _ “You never knew her. Poor Juliet, my love, slaughtered and burned and all that’s left of her...stolen away. Taken by a dark thief, who never knew her beauty and never loved like she did...You deserve to fucking. Die.” _

Andy’s lean fingers worked at the fabric, slowly unfolding it, then tossing it to the ground as the plain steel cross spilled into his hand. It made a soft hissing sound as it hit the skin, but Andy didn’t seem to notice. Still holding tight to Vic’s wrist, he closed the distance between their cold bodies, his movements so intense and deliberate that Vic thought they might kiss. 

The thought sent a grim, repulsed shiver down his spine. 

It wasn’t until the metal touched his skin that he really processed what was happening.

It burned. Like ember to paper, acid to cloth; a holy symbol to bleach-bone skin. He couldn’t help but cry out as the metal threatened to burn through the flesh of his cheek. 

Burning, burning. Fire, poison, blinding pain. It was impossible, unbearable- and then it was over. Vic fell to his knees, and in the red-washed haze of pain, he could swear he felt someone fall beside him. 

Then he heard a voice; a high, fluid voice, speaking from far, far away, or maybe from just a few feet above him. He knew whose voice it was, but he couldn’t make out what it was saying. He heard something that sounded like, “-fucking dumbshit-” then something that sounded like, “-yes,  _ now _ , you goddamn moron...”

There was a loud, splintering  _ crash! _ and the darkness was momentarily diffused by a pale, hazy glow. Then the light was blocked out again by dozens of dark shapes, flooding in like a winter wind, questionably humanoid with their snarls and war cries.

And the storm had well and truly descended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok sorry I didn't update last week, I was hella busy and this chapter was really difficult to write for some reason (even though it's short af lmao). Also, the formatting may turn out shitty bc I'm updating from my phone on a "family road trip." Ugh.   
> [UPDATE: I finally fixed the formatting. #accomplishment]


	9. Now This Is WAR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: I've been reading a lot of gothic horror recently, so if this seems stylistically different or overly graphic, that would be why. I kinda like this chapter though, and I'm honestly psyched because after this I can start focusing on the romantic/mildly sexual shit. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It was nothing other than chaos.

Teeth and nails, sweat and blood. A chorus of horribly inhuman howling; a cacophony of bone-chillingly human screams. The wolves brought a rush of body heat to the chilled, cemetery-still air of the vampires’ home, and the air felt close and wet. The thin, abused floorboards sang with loud, grating creaks and groans as the battle danced its way through the house.

The pain in Vic’s cheek began to subside, fading to a baseline ache, until his vision cleared and he regained full consciousness and control. He was able to lift his feet and stagger to a half-standing position before he was knocked back by a booted foot to the chest.

His hands sunk into a sticky, lukewarm puddle as he hit the ground. The impact sent shockwaves of pain up his arms, adding to the general ache and burn that threatened to overwhelm his senses.

Then there was smooth, dry skin. A hand. Two hands. On his wrists, forearms, biceps. Hoisting him up. Holding him close. Brittle talons digging into his shoulder, dragging him away. “Ahn!” There was a brief flurry of movement, another cry of pain, then Vic found himself shoved out the half-open door.

On the verge of night, the world was cold and blurry. Vic’s eyes held Kellin’s face in focus; everything else bled together into an indistinct and irrelevant backdrop. “What are you doing?” he croaked.

“Saving your ass,” Kellin replied, his gentle tone contrasting the sharpness of his words.

Vic shook his head violently. “I have to go back inside. I’m gonna kill Andy.” He reached for the doorknob.

Kellin brushed his hand away, then caught it and held on when Vic made another shaky grab at the door. “You’re shivering so much. And-” Kellin’s eyes scraped over the planes of Vic’s face “-you don’t look so good either. In fact, you look like you just...No. Not the time or place...”

“I’m fine. Please, please just let me do this.” There were tears converging behind Vic’s eyes now. Normally he would have hated crying in front of Kellin, but in that moment there was nothing more important that getting back inside, and Kellin’s pity was his last hope.

Gray-green eyes widened, then narrowed and hardened into pitiless stone. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but-” He whispered something in a harsh, garbled tongue that Vic could not understand. It was the last thing he heard before there was a flash of lavender and the air turned to ink.

 

If you had been walking by that night, you would have seen the house shaking. You would have heard the snarls of fury, shrieks of pain. Maybe you would have been concerned, called the police. Maybe you would have chalked it up to a gang war, bowed your head and darted past.

Maybe you would have seen the two men on the front porch: one of them sleeping, maybe dead; the other making odd, strangled noises that could have been curses or sobs.

Maybe you would have seen the unconscious body stowed out of sight, so well hidden that he seemed to have turned invisible. Maybe you would have seen the other man slip through the door and join the melee. How he was so silent and furious and somehow glowing, though there was no moon present to lend him its light.

But you didn’t. Nobody did. Nobody saw what happened that night as pride met rage, as grief met vengeance, as claws and faith and fire met teeth and arrogance and ice.

Nobody knows exactly how the cadences of the violence played out; who attacked whom, and who screamed for mercy as they died, and who delivered the killing blow anyway. It was dark, chaotic, bloody and sweaty and loud.

But when it was over, so many lay dead, dying, bleeding out. Trampled or stabbed or simply torn to shreds. The bodies were in heaps, still-warm mountains of mutilated flesh, the blood flowing in rivulets like rainwater.

Those who survived stood shaking and surveying the damage. No one was sure how the battle had ended, but suddenly they were infinitely glad that it had. Vampire and werewolf alike studied the blood on their skin and bit back sobs.

Many were beyond consolation, and stood alone, avoiding each other’s eyes. A few found friends or family members, and fell gratefully into each other's arms. Only the bravest dared to approach the bodies, to gently prod at cooling flesh and attempt to identify familiar faces. Among the former was a shadowy trio of Downworlders who padded softly through the ruins, occasionally kneeling and muttering and producing a flash of colored light. Some ran to stop them, but quickly retreated as they glimpsed blue feather and goat horns, the telling marks of a trusted but terrifying party.

When the dead and wounded had been spelled away and the living had retreated upstairs or to pack headquarters, Kellin Quinn stood and wiped away the streams of salt and scarlet that adorned his forehead.

“Thank you,” whispered the sole lingering werewolf. His voice was tight, his eyes tired and sad.

“For what? This battle was as much mine as it was yours. More, maybe. I should be thanking you.” Kellin’s hand perched, birdlike, on the curve of Alex’s shoulder. “Now go back to Jack. I’m sure he won't be too pleased to hear that we fought without him.”

Alex grimaced. “I'm sure he'll be even less _pleased_ to hear about Oli.”

The warlock’s lip curled slightly. “Wasn't too fond of him myself. But I _am_ sorry...for your loss.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Alex nodded, swallowed, and started toward the door. “And Kellin-” he turned back, looking nervous but resolute “-just...be careful with Vic, you know? Be...be nice. He's had it tough, obviously, and I'd really like to see him...to see him happy.”

Kellin’s eyebrows slid up incredulously. “I...what are...I have no idea what you mean.”

“Right.” A tiny spark returned to Alex’s eyes as he smirked knowingly at his old friend. “No idea.”

The High Warlock threw up his arms and opened his mouth as if to protest, but Alex Gaskarth was already gone, and only one man was left standing among the blood and wreckage as the sun rose over San Francisco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if y'all wanna talk, especially about that THING that happened with MCR (I'm so pissed rn), you can hmu on Tumblr! I finally got an account; my url is prettie-vacant.


	10. Listen To Glass Hearts Shattering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking finally.

The sleeping spell was predictably powerful, and Kellin didn’t have the energy to reverse it. Shielding his friends, cleaning up bodies, and healing what he could had taken a lot of magic; he doubted he’d be able to summon so much as a cigarette for the next few days.

Vic lay still unconscious on Kellin’s couch as the warlock examined himself in the hall mirror. He straightened his tie for the hundredth time and wondered if he had been too liberal in his use of smudged black eyeliner. Deciding he had, he retreated to the bathroom and began to rummage for makeup wipes. 

“Hey.”

“Ah! Shit!” Kellin’s head collided with the edge of a protruding drawer as he stood and whirled to face the voice that had spoken from behind him.

Dammit. Of fucking  _ course _ his sleeping spell was way too strong, but not strong enough to be useful. He had hoped against hope that Vic would sleep through the funeral.

“Where are you going? You look, uh, h- good. You look good.” Vic looked down, his eyes catching on the angle of Kellin’s hip before sliding down to his clean, charcoal-colored Vans. 

“Thanks.” Kellin grinned uneasily, grateful that the vampire wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Skinny jeans and a suit jacket. Quite a look, right?” He turned to face the mirror over the sink and occupied himself with cleaning up his eye makeup.

“It is. Really. But, uh- where are you going? I mean, ugh this is weird...you don’t have to tell me, but-”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m headed to, um, a funeral.” Kellin grimaced at the inevitable harshness of the word. In the mirror, he could see Vic’s cheeks suck back into his skull.

“Oh. Oh, shit. What...who? It’s my fault, isn’t it? Fuck. It’s my fault. Who..who was it?” 

“Whoa, slow down.” Kellin stowed the makeup wipes and forced himself to face Vic again. “Don’t give me that ‘it’s all my fault’ shit. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He seized Vic’s chin with the tips of his fingers and tilted his face up, admittedly a little aggressive. “Listen, okay? It’s not your fault, and who it is isn’t important. But now I feel like...goddammit. If I leave you here, are you gonna fucking kill yourself?”

Vic’s jaw went slightly slack. “Excuse me?”

Kellin’s delicate lips twisted into a crooked, sarcastic smile. “You know you want to. I don’t trust you not to if I leave you here alone. I think I might spell you in...or you could come with me...” His eyes turned cloudy and distant for a moment as he thought. “Yeah. You’re coming with. Here, hold on-” He pushed past Vic, who stood in the doorway with his mouth still hanging open. 

There was a crash and a rustling noise, and a slightly disheveled Kellin emerged from his bedroom with a black dress shirt draped over his arm. “Here. Put this on. And then we have to  _ go. _ For fuck’s sake, I don’t want to be late to a funeral.” 

 

“-I just...just can’t believe it. It all happened so fast. But I think Jeremy would have been proud, you know? I think- I think this is how he would have wanted it to end...” 

Vic found himself sniffling and attempting to surreptitiously dab away tears as the woman on the podium gushed about her lost love. He hadn’t even known Jeremy, or Taylor, or Jesse or Gabe or Matt. But the heartbreaking speeches were piling up, one after another, and the wolves’ brutal misery was beginning to get to him. He couldn’t help but think that each one was his fault; somehow he had managed to fuck up so many lives without knowing or caring, and now he was sitting at their mass funeral, crying, like his tears meant anything... He felt sick. 

The speech about Jeremy ended, and Alex announced that Michael would be coming up to commemorate Ashton Irwin. At Vic’s side, Kellin shifted in his seat and toyed with a loose thread on his sleeve, looking bored and uncomfortable. Vic took a deep breath and focused on the silver studs in Michael’s eyebrow, silently resolving not to cry.

There must have been close to thirty speeches total, given with varying degrees of humor and grace. Each one hit Vic hard, and added to the heavy, ugly cloud that hung over the mourners’ heads. Kellin, on the other hand, grew more and more restless, eventually beginning to bounce his leg so vigorously that Vic felt obligated to place a hand on his knee to calm him down. 

Kellin turned slightly pink and stilled significantly, though he continued to fidget until Alex said, “Alright. Thanks so much, Ben. So, our last eulogy here is gonna be tough for all of us. It’s time to pay our respects to a great leader, one of the bravest, strongest guys I’ve ever known, someone who was a hardworking and honest friend, brother, and guardian to us all. Lee, will you come up and say a few words?”

The High Warlock sat up a little and trained his eyes on the small, scruffy man that rose to take the stage. 

“‘Ello,” the man said in a thick English accent. “M’ name’s Lee Malia. Oliver Sykes was my bes’ friend in th’ whole entire world. We grew up t’gether in this pack, ‘nd I never met-” His voice broke and he lifted a hand to his eyes. “I never had a bette’ or more loyal friend...”

Vic was overwhelmed with guilt and regret, and wondered if he would be judged for running away to have a breakdown in solitude. Quickly scanning his surroundings, he decided that it would be easy enough to slip out into the lobby from where he sat.

As Lee continued to speak, Vic steeled his nerves and made his escape, largely unnoticed (or, at least, unacknowledged). He found his way to the bathroom and shut himself in, slumping back against the door. 

It was so quiet, and everything was so bright. He ground the heel of his hand into his temples as thin, stinging tears slipped down his cheeks and onto the cold tile floor. Too quiet. Too bright. Like a dream. Unreal. Nothing was real, nothing was real, nothing mattered, everything mattered. Everything was important but everything was so small and none of it was real. 

It hurt so much. 

After maybe a minute, someone tried the doorknob. Vic muffled his sobs and hoped they would go away. But of course. He knew who it was as soon as he heard the harsh, foreign whisper and felt the door give away behind him. 

Kellin stepped in, closing and locking the door. “I hope you know that you’re being fucking dumb right now,” he murmured in a low half-growl. “You’re too pretty to be so hard on yourself.” The warlock moved close, nearly pinning Vic against the wall. 

Surprised, Vic drew his hands away from his face and braced them against Kellin’s shoulders. But before he could say anything, Kellin’s hands were in his hair. The taller man moved in fairly slowly, giving Vic plenty of time to object or break away, but the vampire had frozen in place. 

Once Kellin had ascertain that Vic was not going anywhere, he closed the distance swiftly and expertly. Their lips met like a car crash. Collided like howling winds on a warpath. It was a kiss of hurt and longing, all the emotions they had never spoken and all the words they had never felt. 

Vic felt nothing but heat and heavy breathing and utter ecstasy. 

Kellin leaned back, panting. “Fuck.” His glamour had slipped away, and now his fingers literally  _ clawed _ at the skin of Vic’s neck, in a painful but hot kind of way.

Vic smirked and dug his nails into Kellin’s skin in turn, gripping his sides and pulling him back in to finish what they had started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dramatic emo fic is back!!! I was /trying/ to write all week, but somehow I just ended up watching "Best of Adore Delano" compilation videos. For like,,,, hours. Oooops. 
> 
> Also, yes. My characters' first kiss was at a fucking funeral. This is because I'm a Bad Person™.


	11. Better Think of Something Good to Say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your fave emo gays are back! I suck at writing affection and generally positive feelings so,, be patient with this *romance.*

There was a loud, sharp knock on the door, and the two men broke apart. Vic felt his senses settle back into his body, and realized with horror that the funeral service must be over. He could hear people milling around in the lobby, and clearly someone needed to get into the bathroom.

Vic’s flash of panic was mirrored on Kellin’s face. “Shit!” the warlock hissed. “Okay, okay, hold on.” His forehead crinkled as gears spun behind his eyes. “Alright, I’m gonna cast a quick invisibility glamour. Walk out and act normal. I’m. Not. Here. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Vic nodded vigorously. The knocking persisted. “Hurry up!”

Seconds later, Kellin was gone and Vic took a shaky breath as he tucked his chin into his chest and turned the door handle.

A tall, broad werewolf pushed roughly past him, trailing the scent of alcohol. As Vic slipped into the crowd, he heard an angered snarl from behind him and whipped around, alarmed. 

The big werewolf seemed to be swatting at the air, looking at once confused and enraged. After a few seconds of aimless pawing, he gave up and continued into the bathroom, wearing a bloodshot scowl.

Kellin materialized at Vic’s side, noticeably flushed and wild-eyed. “That was close,” he mouthed. Vic quickly figured out what had happened and nodded, suppressing a hysterical grin.

The crowd in the lobby was rapidly thinning now, as Downworlders said goodbye and ducked out, headed home or to the reception. Vic’s eyes drifted away from Kellin and searched out familiar faces in the cold, gray room. Eventually, they landed on a pair of slim, distinctive figures: Brendon Urie and Dallon Weekes, the former clutching at the shoulder of the latter as they walked out together, apparently absorbed in some spirited conversation. Vic watched them go with an amused and strangely wistful expression. 

“Yo.” Vic’s attention was diverted as Alex slipped between him and Kellin, addressing the former with laughing eyes and a somber grin. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Kellin raised an eyebrow. “I’ll wait in the car.”

“Thanks, man.” Alex shot a smile that Vic could not quite read, one that elicited an earth-shaking eyeroll from the High Warlock. Nevertheless, Kellin slunk away and Vic followed Alex to a semi-private niche off the main lobby. 

“So, um.” The tall, lanky alpha-wolf leaned back against the wall. “Look, I know what’s going on.”

Vic started, nearly toppling a thin porcelain vase that stood on top of a sinister-looking black cabinet nearby. “What do you mean?” he asked shakily.

Alex shook his head and clasped his hands together at his stomach. “Man, Kellin and I never dated, but I’ve known him for like ten years. I can tell when he’s into someone. And I can tell you like him back, ‘cause, you know.” He made an uncomfortable fluttering hand gesture. “I’m the fuckin alpha wolf for a reason. I’m observant, I can read people, I  _ know  _ things. So I know that you two are...something. Maybe not together, but something.”

The vampire opened his mouth to protest, but Alex placed a pacifying hand on his arm. “Dude, I’m not judging or anything. I just want you to be careful, okay? Kellin is...he’s a handful. I just couldn’t imagine dating him...” Alex grinned wryly. “The guy’s got emotional baggage up to the fucking moon. Especially after Kate. So just, you know, whatever you two are, I want you to be ready for that.”

Vic nodded slowly. “Thanks, I- I appreciate that, really.” His eyes slid off into the distance as he carefully selected his next words. “But don’t you think, you have, you know...other stuff to worry about?”

Alex’s eyebrows flew up in an expression of understanding and slight injury. But he quickly fixed his features into a knowing smirk and leaned in closer to Vic. “I have a lot of dead friends. But I have a lot of living friends, too. And, uh,” he amended, “one undead friend. And those are the friends that come first. ‘Cause the dead dudes? I’ll see them in hell soon enough. I don’t hafta worry about them anymore. But you? I absolutely  _ do  _ have to worry about you. Because I’m gonna die, and you’re gonna live. You’re gonna live forever, and I want you to be happy. I just want you to be fucking happy, okay?” Tears glistened like tiny crystals in Alex’s wide, dark eyes. “So that’s all I ask. Be careful and be happy, for me and all my dead fucking friends.” Before Vic could say anything, Alex dipped his head and padded quietly away.

As he went, Vic couldn’t help but think that the alpha wolf had never look less wolflike.

 

The thin stream of people trickling along the sidewalk were understandably alarmed as a small, dark-clothed man burst out of the doors of the funeral home with his head and shoulders completely obscured by a wide black umbrella. The tenebrous figure wound his way through the small clump of passersby and dived into the backseat of the sleek black car that awaited him nearby. He somehow managed to close the umbrella  _ and _ the door in one fluid motion, and then the vehicle slid noiselessly off into the gathering dusk.

Inside the car, some kind of spacey prog-rock drifted disinterestedly through the speakers. The odd-looking man in the driver’s seat chattered absently about possible couples and questionable fashion choices. It was a monologue of thinly-veiled tension, a desperate attempt to absorb the strained silence.

Eventually, though, he ran out of things to say, and the silence won. It enveloped the two men, as they had always known it would, tangible like a cold wind under thin skin. 

The light turned red. The world slowed, stilled. It became too much to bear. “He told me to be careful,” Vic sighed. 

“With me?”

“I guess. Or more like... _ around _ you. I think he thinks we’re a...thing.”

“Are we? A  _ thing?” _

The light turned green. “I don’t think so. But...he said you were, um,  _ ‘into _ me.’” The vampire winced at the awkwardly childish words that were not quite his own.

“He did, huh?”

“Was he wrong?”

“I-” Kellin inhaled sharply. “I dunno. Was he?”

Vic’s knuckles turned white around the handle of the black umbrella. “Will you stop playing with me? Jesus C-” he choked on the word “Christ,” which only made him angrier “-just give me a straight answer for  _ fuck’s sake _ .”

There was no answer. Kellin parked the car wordlessly. Vic realized with a start that they were already back at the apartment. He swung the door open and stomped out impulsively, slamming it hard behind him. 

But the anger disappeared as suddenly as it had come on, and left him with nothing but dizzying waves of anxiety and confusion. He gripped a nearby lamppost for support as a warm, sick terror rose in his throat. 

“Are you okay?”

Now it was his turn to deny a response, though he did so more out of physical inability than anything else. 

Thin, warm fingers pressed against the underside of his chin and his vision was momentarily washed with lavender as a cool, soothing sensation passed through his body. When he could see clearly again, Kellin’s eyes bore into his with a weathered intensity. 

They stayed like that for a few seconds; just the two of them on the quiescent street; staring, unmoving.

They were old eyes, Vic thought. Old, sad eyes. Hurricane eyes, rainwater eyes, bright eyes filled with a profoundly foreign light. 

And this time, their lips didn’t collide so much as gently interlock. 

Their second kiss was soft and undemanding. It was an apology; it was a reassurance. It was a scream; it was a whisper. It was a question, and it was an answer.

The shiningly innocuous moment was interrupted by a brash wolf-whistle from the other side of the street.

Feeling that the spell of tranquility had been broken, both men pulled away at the same time, and without speaking, walked toward the front door of Kellin’s building. 

As Kellin swung the door softly closed behind them, they were swallowed by a deep, gauzy greyness. 

“Fucking Alex Gaskarth,” the warlock said mildly.

Vic caught his meaning. “You’re just mad because he was right.”

A quietly cantabile laugh. “Maybe I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully y'all haven't abandoned this hot mess of a fic yet. I'm probably gonna update once a month at most from now on, at least until December or so. My school really stepped it the fuck up with the workload this year. And honestly, I could force myself to churn out chapters once a week or every other week, but the writing would turn out shitty, so I'm gonna take my time and try to write some quality trash. Thanks for bearing with me! lmao ❤️❤️❤️


	12. For You, and For You Only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vic and Kellin have been through a lot together, but are they ready for the L-word?

_Shit, I’m becoming a diurnal_ _vampire_ , Vic thought as he awoke to the glow of afternoon sunlight forming a faint halo around curtains that seemed to have been enchanted to keep it back. Very little light actually permeated the air, and fell on the vampire’s skin with nothing more than a vague prickle.

But the small amount of light, combined with his heightened senses, was enough for Vic to see that Kellin’s shirt lay abandoned on the floor, though the High Warlock himself was nowhere to be seen. The outline of the crumpled fabric burned into the backs of Vic’s eyelids and sent a thrill of electricity through his chest, the adrenaline laced with a strange melancholy and more than a little panic. 

Closing his eyes with a nervous shiver, he remembered the gentle glow of Kellin’s eyes, green-brown like speckled sunshine. A placid, clean sensation of calm slid over his skin. Sitting on the edge of a warlock’s spare bed, facing a perfectly textureless eggshell-colored wall, he realized that for the first time in maybe a month, he felt content. It was a strange but gratifying way to feel, given all that he had seen and done over the past few weeks.

He remembered that Kellin wasn’t his type and laughed softly to himself. He had realized at some point that the Downworld transcended  _ type _ . There was something about glittering Portals, murderous half-demons, and stone cold immortality that rendered all previous experience irrelevant.

“Not that far.” Kellin’s voice drifted in from the living room. It was hushed and hoarse; Vic suspected a human wouldn’t have been able to hear it. “No, we didn’t...you know I can’t, not after her...Shut up, I’m fine.” It occurred to Vic that Kellin was on the phone. He wondered if he should continue to eavesdrop, but before he could decide, Kellin said, “Yeah, don’t worry about me, man. Take care.” And the apartment was quiet. 

A little unsettled, with the sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly what Kellin had been talking about, Vic scavenged through the crumpled sheets in search of his shirt. He was slipping it over his head when Kellin appeared in the doorway, shirtless and smirking. “So. Want some coffee?”

Vic stared. “Um.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

As Vic walked in, Kellin plucked a Starbucks coffee cup from thin air,

dangling it delicately between the tips of his talons. A second one, glittering with summoning magic, was gifted to Vic. 

Kellin regarded him with an unreadable expression. 

The silence pressed down. With its omniscient voice it murmured the unspoken, unanswerable question.  _ So. Where do we go from here? _

Vic mulled over the conversation he had overheard. A painful kind of clarity swelled in his chest. “It doesn’t feel better, does it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The warlock raised a challenging eyebrow.  _ Are you sure you want to go there? _

“You killed him. And now what? You think it’s not gonna hurt anymore? You think you can just kill him and fuck me and suddenly your past is six feet under?”

Kellin’s talons began to burrow into the table. “You don’t understand,” he snarled.

“I do, though. It’s fucking crazy- how you’ve lived so long and you haven’t figured shit out. Revenge never solves anything. I know you don’t wanna hear this, but you’ve just gotta let her go.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to let her go. You don’t know anything about her.”

“So what if I don’t? I know enough about you.” He let that sit for a moment, as he realized it was true. In just a few days, he had slid under the thick skin of a strange man. He had seen the good, the bad, and the ugly, and as he thought about this he realized something else. “I know you, and I love you.”

Kellin’s eyes went wide. “Don’t say that.”

Vic went pink with regret. What had possessed him to say that?

“You know what, I have to go.” Kellin practically leapt up, avoiding Vic’s eyes. “I think that you should...go. Tonight. Go back to the Clan. It’ll be safe now; Jaime has taken over, and I think he’ll be happy to have you.”

That hurt like hell, and Vic was taken too off guard to pretend it didn’t. He bit the inside of his cheek. “Alright.”

 

The door swung open to reveal a familiar mischievous face. “Glad you decided to rejoin the party,” Jaime grinned.

“Thanks.” Vic tipped his chin up wearily in greeting.

“We’ve got a hunting party going out in a few if you wanna tag along.”

Before, the thought of fresh blood, unwillingly given, would have made Vic sick to his stomach. But he had decided he didn’t owe the world anything. It had taken his brother, his hometown, and his humanity before lighting and extinguishing his final spark of hope. What were a few homeless teenagers against the depths of his pain? They were better off far away from this hell of a world. “Yeah, I think I will.”

Ten minutes later, he was pinning a girl to the brick wall of a back alley. She was around his age but small, clearly malnourished, with big dark eyes and cracked red lips. She whimpered in fear and pain as his hands clenched in her hair and his fangs flew in a gleaming curve towards her neck. A part of him hated this, hated her anguish, but a predatory, instinctual thirst drove him on. Her blood was thick and warm. Soon she went limp. He studied her, in her frailty and pallor, and felt nothing. Behind him, a half-dozen vampires sneered and congratulated him. He couldn’t share in their adolescent thrill. His hunger had been replaced only by emptiness. 

The moon was a pale, bare sliver, and a beautiful voice lingered in the shadows.

 

Back at the Clan base (which he loathed to call “home”), Vic retreated into his room. He was sharing it with a tall, quiet vampire by the name of Tony, who was out at the moment. 

Vic was surprised at how quickly the vampires had recovered from the loss of nearly a third of their Clan. They seemed to be partying as if nothing had happened; loud music blared from downstairs, the whole place smelled of mary jane, and there were suspicious thumps and breathy squeals coming from the next room over. Life with the Clan was as it had always been- an endless celebration of endless youth, hedonistic and morally questionable and tinged with murder. Former rock star though he may be, this was not Vic’s scene. He wondered if it would really be so bad to return to San Diego. Though he knew it meant almost certain death. He still had that awful empty feeling in his chest, and staying in San Francisco would only make it worse.

He was lost in his thoughts and drowning in the electronic bass thumps when he realized there was someone else in the room. “Go away. Please.” He didn’t even turn around; he couldn’t bear to see that face again. “If you don’t love me, I get it. You don’t have to apologize or try to make it better.”

“But you were right.” This admission, and the pain in the voice that made it, made Vic turn his head. “About Andy, and Kate, and...everything, really.” Kellin’s eyes were pink, his complexion blotchy, but he was beautiful as ever. 

“Yeah, I know,” Vic muttered, looking away. Something heavy and soft had swelled in his chest at the sight of the warlock, banishing the emptiness. It was nice, but he didn’t want to hear that he was right. He wanted to hear something very specific, and something he knew Kellin wouldn’t say. 

“I’m sorry,” the blue-haired warlock offered. “I was a dick to you.”

“No, you were just being yourself,” Vic snarled. “What do you want? What’re you trying to accomplish by coming here?”

“Just look at me. Baby, please.” 

Vic obeyed. He looked the same as he had moments ago. Breathtaking. Ethereal. Kind of shattered. Textbook heartbreaker.

Kellin began to close the distance between them, but Vic flinched away. “Don’t. God, don’t.”

Their eyes locked. Two green, two brown, all four wide and shining and torn apart. 

“Please. I love you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do. I fucking do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end! The actual final end, which has been several months in the making now. Let me know what you think of the ending and the story as a whole in the comments.
> 
> Imma be emo real quick. This is honestly the singular best thing I've ever written, and it's weird to finally have it done. Thanks to everyone who's read this, left kudos, and commented, and special thanks to everyone who didn't forget about it during the school year-long hiatus. Y'all are the realest.
> 
> I probably won't be posting here much anymore, but keep up with me @gothicauntie on tumblr!


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